


survive

by hoppnhorn



Series: Harringrove Bits & Pieces [20]
Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Post-Apocalypse, Blood and Injury, Blood and Violence, Gun Violence, Inspired by Mad Max Series (Movies), M/M, Tumblr Prompt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-16
Updated: 2018-12-16
Packaged: 2019-09-19 21:21:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,252
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17009442
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hoppnhorn/pseuds/hoppnhorn
Summary: “Last chance.” The masked voice asks and Billy lets his tongue hang from his open mouth, pants like it’s all a game. Maybe it is. This is all he has, after all. The endless chase. The endless fight. Flirting with death.“Eat.” He says with a breathy chuckle. “Shit.”





	survive

**Author's Note:**

> [prompt from tumblr](https://hoppnhorn.tumblr.com/post/170923263113/hi-hop-any-chance-of-you-writing-a): "hi hop!! any chance of you writing a post-apocalyptic harringrove drabble of some kind???"

There’s some kind of wire woven in the chain around his wrists. He can feel it digging, puncturing, and the slick warmth of blood dripping down his forearms. But the pain is barely there in the forefront of his mind. He’s felt worse. He’s felt far, far worse than spiked wire. 

The asshole holding the end of the chain gives it a tug and Billy hisses, letting his back go slack so his arms can stretch further away, but the wire still cuts, gouging between his bones. He doesn’t cry out despite the pain that licks up his arms, nerves aflame. No, they’d have to do a lot more to get him to raise his voice. They’d have to flay him alive to get him to scream. Staring into the black eyes of his captors, Billy wonders if they’d kill him after they peel the skin from his flesh or if they’d leave him in the sun to be eaten by whatever crawls the sand at night. 

“Where are they?” A gruff voice asks again. They’ve asked him a couple times now and his reply has been the same each time. He grins and shows off the mouth full of teeth he still miraculously has. He’s been struck in the face more times than he can count, had his nose realigned and his skin sewn shut. But his teeth have survived, bright and white in contrast to his dark and dirt-stained skin. 

Billy doesn’t answer with words. Instead, he simply rotates one of his wrists, grimacing only a little as blood drips from the tears in his skin, and sticks up one middle finger. 

“Eat shit.” He adds for good measure, laughing when they lash out and grab him by the hair, pull his head back so he’s staring up at one of them, smelling the guy’s foul breath. Billy lets the laugh turn ugly as he sneers, bares his teeth like an animal. He’d bite through a jugular if he had to. He’s done it before. But the asshole nearly ripping the hair from his scalp doesn’t get close enough. 

“Last chance.” The masked voice asks and Billy lets his tongue hang from his open mouth, pants like it’s all a game. Maybe it is. This is all he has, after all. The endless chase. The endless fight. Flirting with death.

“Eat.” He says with a breathy chuckle. “Shit.” 

The pull on his scalp yanks him forward and he feels the butt of a gun on the back of his skull. Not the first time but it might be the last. Billy closes his eyes and thinks of a song he’d once loved. A song about shouting at devils. He grins and wonders if they’d be singing when he meets them. 

A dull, short crack sounds overhead and Billy’s eyes shoot open. 

Without hesitation he’s falling flat on his face, pulling on his binds to bring his hands over his head. Billy huddles in a ball in the sand as more pops sound, rapid and muted. Gun shots. Dozens of them. His ears are ringing as he listens and waits. He hears his captors scatter, hears footprints in heavy sand and then the weight of falling bodies. They drum on the ground like beats to a song, steady and frequent until the melody ends. 

He only lifts his head when the silence has stretched on for minutes, blinking rapidly in the bright sun. He’s surrounded by the dead, their dark clothes peppering the golden ground. Billy nudges one with his foot. 

“Assholes.” He sits up, tugs on the chain and sighs in irritation. “Where are my bolt cutters when I need ‘em.” 

Shuffling around in the sand, he finds the end of the chain and groans when he sees it’s attached to a belt, bound around a dead man’s waist. 

“Need a hand?” A voice calls. Billy whirls around, ready for a fight. But his stance falls slack in moments. 

“Took you long enough.” 

Steve trudges closer slowly, his heavy boots sinking in the sand with each step. He’s wearing tan everything, blending into the endless desert, like Hopper had taught them, years ago. Only his hair stands out now, dark and wild atop his head as he tugs the scarf away. His pretty boy looks scruffy, a weeks worth of stubble growing on his jaw and lip. 

“You’re hard to track without this.” Steve holds up a beacon, no bigger than a bean, and Billy grunts, motioning to his left leg. 

“They dug it out.” He shifts forward, trying to stand. Steve catches his weight and together they rise. Billy’s legs shimmy with exertion. He hasn’t stood on his feet for days. “First thing they did, actually. They weren’t as stupid as I figured.”

Steve loops an arm around his waist, keeps him upright as he pulls out a heavy set of cutters, compact but strong enough to cut through the chain embedded in Billy’s wrists. 

“This is gonna hurt.” He murmurs before he slips the cutters through a link, meets Billy’s eye. 

“Doesn’t it always?” 

When the chain snaps and the wire tugs free, Billy’s blood flows and he clamps his jaw shut to keep from whimpering. 

“Jesus.” Steve quickly tosses the binds away, parts Billy’s shaking hands to wrap his arms around his chest and pull him close. Slumped against Steve’s strength, Billy lets himself relax, gives over his weight. He knows Steve can take it. He’s carried him plenty of times before. “You scared me, asshole.” His lover whispers against his temple, dry lips and stubble scratching in the best way. 

“Didn’t mean to worry you, sweetheart.” Billy breathes. “I got held up at the grocery store.” Steve chuckles and Billy closes his eyes, relishes the sound. “I went out to get you something nice and got a little, sidetracked.” 

“You promised me you’d be home by seven, remember?” Steve kisses his ear and Billy feels his weight being lifted, pulled up onto a sturdy back. “I had a roast waiting and everything.”

“Mmmm, I like roast.” Billy slurs, allowing his exhaustion to finally claim him, the adrenaline in his tired, aching body fading away. “But I wanted to get you that AK you’ve wanted. I had it ordered special.” 

“Very special. Fresh off the back of a truck.” Steve grunts as he starts to move, his steps labored. “You know how these guys feel about that, dearest.”

“I was just gonna borrow it.”

“Mhm. Right after you took a whole case of them.” 

Billy giggles, delirium mixing with giddiness. He can’t help it, now that he’s home again.

“I never did learn to share.” The blood is rushing to his head as he hangs over Steve’s back but he doesn’t care. He nuzzles against his shoulder blades, inhales his scent. “Good shooting by the way.” He murmurs.

“Figured you’d appreciate my timing.” Steve quips gently. Billy grapples with his consciousness as the wind picks up and Billy wonders how far Steve hid their truck. Wonders if there’s a storm on the horizon. But he doesn’t look. He doesn’t bother. He’s in his lover’s arms and that’s all that matters. Home. 

“What would I do without you.” He sighs into Steve’s back, his head lolling side to side as Steve plods forward. 

“That’s why we’re still alive.” Steve replies, panting with exertion. “We have each other.”

“Yeah.” Billy smiles a little, sleep dragging him down. “Me and you, Harrington. ‘Til the end.”

“And further, Hargrove. Much further.” 


End file.
